


Still

by dalaire



Series: Lullaby [3]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-10-15
Updated: 2001-10-15
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalaire/pseuds/dalaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This series of vignettes catches up with B'Elanna the morning after "Lullaby's" end as she attempts to deal with her past and present in this altered universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still

"Hey, where are you going?  Is this some new...  What the...?" 

"It's nothing.  Let's go.  Computer, end progra--"

"Computer, belay that!" 

"What the hell are you doing?!  Computer--!" 

"B'Elanna, stop!" 

"Why are you even here?" 

"Because we arranged it." 

"I didn't tell you to--"

But then it comes to her:  _Dinner.  We were going to have dinner._

She draws an airless breath.  She feels it stick in her lungs. 

As quick as she'd been to move before, it's as if she'd made no effort at all...no effort to... 

He'd already seen it.  He saw it all. 

_Dinner.  He was going to replicate something, something nice for me, because, he'd said, I'd been through so much and I needed...needed..._

Any thought of eating shrinks quickly away as she sees his darkened gaze peruse the shallow cavern.  And what she's doing there is suddenly a mystery to her--what had made her recreate that vicious day, those people...  These are people she has tried not to think of, a day she has not thought about--made herself not think about.  It was useless to think about it. 

There was nothing she could do...now.  And now... 

For some reason she has thought, even if unconsciously, about them, that day...  She can name each one of those lifeless heaps in the sand, can recall so clearly her conversations with those tattered corpses--those conversations circled briefly as she looks at them, tries not to look at them.  She could place a family or the loss of a family to each, even hear what she imagined of their mournful cries, of wives, of children, parents, when they learned... 

She shakes her head tightly and it silences. 

He's looking at it.  He's not looking back at her. 

She can't remember what was going through her head when she typed in the commands--can barely recall typing the commands, asking the computer for what she did.  All of it shrinks, and she can only see her lover walking into the cavern, through the unconcealed violence. 

He's seeing it all...whatever it is. 

He probably thought it was going to be okay, after yesterday... 

She thought it would be, too, in time. 

She cannot imagine what it was that made her do this. 

"What's going on?"  he asks, his softened tone the only thing that makes her know it is not a casual question.  He's searching her, wanting to drive her... 

"Nothing."  Of course he won't believe that.  He never believes her when she says that.  "Tom, please, let's just go.  This isn't anything." 

For the moment, he doesn't try to correct her.  He's smart about her that way, knows what "nothing" really means.  She's given him a lot of practice.  He's not the only one...just the one who asks for the practice and has decided to get some more, in spite of her. 

_Why does he insist on this?_ she thinks, sighing a hard breath through her nostrils as she stands rigidly in the shadow, waiting for him to finish analyzing whatever he was going to analyze. 

_He knows I'm bothered by him being here.  That's what "nothing" means.  He knows I want to go.  But of course, that's all the reason he won't.  Fine.  Fine.  Fine._

It is increasingly difficult, though, to watch Tom step around the scene.  He pulls one boot up, sets it down...moving further in, closely avoiding the throng of lifeless forms in lumpy clothes, peering around with his usual air of casual examination.  Each step crackles upon the sandy rocks; she can even hear him breathing. 

His breathing echoes in her ears, then is getting softer, and softer... 

A couple times, she jerks without thinking to step in and pull him away, make him not see the next...and the next... 

"What do you want to get out of this?"  he finally asks, a model of neutrality she knows too well. 

Far too well... 

"Look, Tom, it was a bad idea," she says, trying and failing for ease.  "I knew it when I came in here that it was.  It's not what I was thinking to do."  He shouldn't be where he is.  "I was just shutting it down when you came in.  --You must have been right behind me.  I was here only about--"

"But why do this in the first place?"  he presses, finally turning his stare back at her. 

His stare is hollow. 

She swallows, covers it with a shrug.  "I guess...  I thought it would help." 

He doesn't move from his place.  He's near the back of the hollow, where an unnatural backlight sets him in darkness.  Blinking, she suddenly sees him lying prone, a phaser hole still smoking in his back, his limbs twitching, reaching...like the others did when--

"Look, this--"

"Help what?"  he cuts in. 

She flinches.  She has to get them out of there--get him away from where he'd chosen to stop...  "Help me...  I don't know.  Tom, please, let's just get--"

"Not yet." 

"There's nothing to see!"  she insists. 

"I think there is."  He is trying to understand--but he can't understand.  He shouldn't understand.  "I know yesterday was hell for you, with the news, all the letters.  But..."  His eyes roam the room in another long sweep.  It seems he's doing it on purpose, making her wait there, making her watch him there, with the light behind him... 

She wants to go.  She wanted to before.  She needs to leave and take him with her. 

"You need to figure this out, B'Elanna." 

Doesn't he understand that they have to _go_? 

"Figure out _what?_"

She feels a pain in her chest as her arms twitch again to grab him, to pull him away, to get them both out of that place.  It only serves to tighten her hands into fists. 

He isn't moving.  He refuses to move.  He won't let them leave... 

Damn him, he isn't moving! 

"What the hell are you doing here, anyway?" 

_Dinner..._

......... 

...... 

... 

.. 

. 

B'Elanna's eyes opened in the dark room. 

Blinking heavily, her vision settled, unfocused, on the ceiling.

        _I don't expect you to understand it.  You weren't there._

        _You think I don't remember some of these people?  You think I don't have a list of my own floating around in my head?_

Glancing over, she saw her fingers were still entwined in Tom's hair as he slept, so deeply, he barely breathed. 

He laid just as she left him, when she, too, had fallen asleep. 

Her eyes, though lazy, did not want to close again. 

The dropping feeling inside her chest would not go away.

        _There's just too much going on right now, Tom.  I don't know what to tell you._

        _I'd like it if you told me the truth._

        _I've never lied to you._

        _You did when you said this was nothing._

As she watched him, Tom drew a soft breath, rubbed into her touches. 

A muscle in her cheek twitched then relaxed, without any conscious intervention on her part. 

She couldn't have done anything about it even if she had thought to.

        _If you walk away from this one, B'Elanna, you'll hate yourself._

        _I don't even know *what* I'm walking away from!_

        _The fact that you're alive, B'Elanna._

Her hand drifted down the pillow; her fingers slid against the sleep-moist skin of his neck. 

The side of her hand resting against the pillow, she traced with one finger the small, rounded scar on his shoulder. 

She remembered putting it there.

        _Why do you have to see it again?_

        _Because...  I didn't know what to feel about it anymore, and...  Damnit, I don't know!_

B'Elanna didn't bother to ask for the lights when she managed to roll herself away and scoot her feet to the side of the bed. 

It was morning. 

She'd slept enough.

  
                _**Still**_****

The more she tried to do, the more she discovered it was harder than she thought, simple acts she'd done every day without thinking, without effort.  Everything was harder than it should have been, really.  She began to wonder why any next thing should be so different. 

But despite her practically nonexistent coordination, she tried again and growled again at the ineffectiveness of her efforts.  Every time she tried to do it the way she thought to, the result was the opposite. 

_That_ was quickly becoming the old routine. 

_Did I ask for this?_ she demanded uselessly to herself, feeling her muscles strain for merely holding her arm up, forcing herself not to let it drop as she pulled her hand closer to her head.

        _Like I told you before:  If you're not in a vacuum, you're doing okay._

B'Elanna shook her head, shook away the memory despite knowing it would probably come back.  The Doctor had cheerfully warned her that "a healing brain is going to be an active brain."  Unfortunately, he was right--especially when there was nothing else to distract her but herself. 

_Did I ask?_ But she suddenly didn't want to know that answer.  That was a dangerous question, and she didn't have the energy to fight that ancient battle on top of everything else.  So instead, she forced herself to continue in yet another impossible simple task, tried to keep herself in the present. 

This time, the challenge was a mop of sable locks that desperately needed more agile attention.  Its texture was typical for artificially stimulated hair, so the Doctor had told her.  It could of course be styled and put back to how it'd been.  Tom would have to help her with that.  For now, it was new and unstyled and thus was a frightening combination of dark, heavy plaits and unruly ringlets sticking out at all angles--another lovely example of her mixed genome at work. 

Everything was new, she knew, watching sprigs of hair pop out as the brush slowly released them. 

For this, they--the captain, Chakotay, Harry--called her a survivor.  At her bedside, they tried to grin without smiling too much; patted her arm, a shoulder, and then told her she had been as stubborn and strong as she could be, and that they were glad for it.  As she laid, silent, they bravely told her how she pulled through, that she always had been a survivor...

        _Anyone dead?_

        _Not so far.  We were lucky._

She dropped the brush.  It clunked onto the carpet with a couple soft thuds then came to rest on its spine. 

She stared at it for nearly a minute, grinding her teeth in her regenerated gums as she contemplated how she should pick it up.  There was no way but the obvious, she soon decided, despite the ten minute-old memory of managing herself up from the toilet--and then the floor, her trembling legs sprawled out, her gown hiked up and the wind knocked out of her, feeling like an imbecile but too shocked to feel much more. 

_Just be *careful* this time,_ she told herself firmly.  _Take your time..._

A few seconds and a full breath later, she grabbed the edge of the counter, made a mental effort to bend her knees first, slowly lean over--then her hand instinctively popped forward to balance her weight when suddenly her ankles didn't feel up to the task. 

But she held on.  In mid-crouch, she took a breath.  Lowering herself further, setting her weight on her better knee, she bent a little more and touched the wooden handle.  Then she caught her breath, closed her eyes as she carefully wrapped her fingers around the brush. 

Her fingers were hooked on the edge of the counter.  She could feel them slipping slightly.

        _What is it?_

        _Just...  You ever feel so alone that it hurts inside, but you can't do a damn thing about it?  Sometimes I let myself think about it.  For a long time, I didn't, didn't think about anything.  Or at least I made myself believe I could.  But it's there, anyway._

        _...Why are you asking me this?_

Tom had made her that brush, had smoothed her new hair with it during her time in sickbay, those twenty-three days she had been beyond comatose, burnt black at first then slowly repaired.  Her hair had come last.  She knew from the Doctor that her situation had been very bleak, but that she had somehow held on long enough for her brain to heal and finally let her awaken. 

That sounded more like the truth than the survivor bit that followed soon after. 

        _I think I understand you better than you think, and that's not really a good thing._

She still didn't think she wanted to know what must have been going through Tom's head for all that time.  He'd really taken his duty to her seriously--more seriously than even she expected, she believed as she prepared herself to stand up again. 

Feeling herself go nowhere at first, she recalled yet again that it was harder to get up than go down.  Somehow, she kept forgetting that.

        _You don't understand!_

        _I think I do.  You have to learn to be a little less sensitive._

Her replaced knee buckling at first, she combined the little strength in her arms and twitching thighs then threw her brush-filled hand up to the edge of the counter for purchase. 

_Well, of course, for all practical purposes, we're married,_ she thought, desperately trying _not_ to think how glad she was no one could see her just then as she struggled to get her balance right by pressing against the cabinet.  _But we hadn't planned that.  We didn't know what we were getting ourselves into._

With both arms straining, she rose a few more centimeters.  _Or didn't he?  I was serious about what it meant for us, what we both wanted from it, and he got serious about what it entailed.  Maybe he had to.  God knows he had the opportunity._

The muscle stimulators finally kicked in:  Her thighs twitched unnaturally to life and her knees began to straighten.  Soon, she found herself upright, leaning on the counter rather than clawing at it.  Forcing her breath to slow her rapid heart, she likewise willed her shoulders to relax.

        _I'm glad you're one of us, Torres.  It's good to have you back._

She closed her eyes, forced herself back to where she was. 

_This is going to take time,_ she reminded herself, replacing the Doctor's and Tom's voices with her own in her mind.  Much as she wanted to fight it, feeling first hand what had become of her, she had to know they weren't just trying to make her take it easy.  _This is going to take time._

As she prayed that reassurance, her eyes pulled up from the sink.  Without wanting to, she caught her reflection, saw two dark eyes staring back in an eerie kind of shock and a raw, gaunt face, slightly glossed with perspiration.  Her mouth, slightly open to breathe, looked purplish.  All of it was fresh, not worn by time, tanned by the artificial sun she'd make a point to enjoy when she had the time, certainly not work... 

Untouched. 

As the flush from her seemingly simple exertion faded, she knew again how pale she was. 

The mating bite he'd given her was gone. 

_My blood..._ echoed through her mind as she reached a shaky hand up to touch the absence. 

It was gone.  Burned away... 

They'd healed them for the most part, of course, but she knew was that it _had once_ been there. 

It had not been that long, only a few weeks, but it'd become a little part of her. 

_        Just tell me when you're used to it, B'Elanna.  If it's all that important to you, then I'll go along with it.  Just not forever.  Okay?_

        _It won't be like the other times.  I promise._

She had turned her head while she brushed her hair in the morning, or at night, and allowed herself a little grin, even while she wondered again at their impulsiveness and their method.  She'd never thought herself all that Klingon before--in her traditions, anyway.  The Day of Honor was to her akin to pulling teeth; she didn't feel any need to glorify anyone in tale, and she'd certainly never hollered to Sto-Vo-Kor when her friends died.

        _jIH dok..._

It was Tom's impulse that got her into the Oath, though she did go through with it properly, surprising even herself when the ritualistic words, only told to her when she was a child, came back to her.

        _maj dok..._

The thought of how her mother would approve had made her cringe a little inside--a teenage instinct she had never admitted to and for some reason never completely got over.  Then again, her mother would certainly not have approved of her daughter's actions afterwards.

        _We've gone this far, we should finish it._

        _I intend to._

She had wondered, even in the beginning, if she was being fair in wanting keeping it quiet.  Probably not.  She'd known all the while that Tom had a right to be angry, even a little insulted about it at first.  She had been adamant, though, told him that though she wanted to honor their oath, she needed some time to think, needed their privacy for a time.

        _We really are determined, aren't we, B'Elanna?  To get away from things that might hurt us.  It's easy, isn't it?_

        _Yes...  Yes, it is._

But despite her wanting to keep their bond quiet, she had taken the moment to look every morning when she dressed for duty, grinned a little and considered how they should make it all official and when.  And then she wondered why she'd bothered to be so "private" in the first place. 

But she knew why.  It really had been so sudden... 

Now it was gone. 

She brought the brush up to her hair once again.  Setting it in at the crown, she began to pull it slowly down. 

_What was with me, anyway?_ she thought, feeling her chest tighten with another insulting, sickening shot.  _What the hell is *wrong* with me?  It's not like it'd have been taken badly or anyone would've _disapproved_\--like we'd care.  I just needed to keep it to myself...like everything else._

And where did that get her? 

But there was nothing she could do about that now.  There was no taking it back. 

There was only moving on...until the next time.

She pulled the brush out from the frizzy ends and prepared for another stroke, raising her arm, straightening her wrist, setting the teeth in at the crown.

There couldn't be a next time.

        _Get me a phase compositor, will you?  ...Susan, what's the...  Ah, hold on.  Here it--_

        _GET BACK!_

Flinching, B'Elanna reflexively jerked the brush out of her hair.  Blinking quickly, a puff of air escaped her. 

But as soon as she inhaled again, the flash was gone, much as she tried to figure out where it'd come from. 

Her knuckles were white for gripping the handle.  With another breath, she consciously relaxed, let her hand drift down to the counter before releasing the brush.  Her fingers trembled as it fell away. 

She decided then that maybe Tom was right.  She shouldn't push herself, make it more difficult than it already was, which she knew she has a talent of doing.

_Give yourself time._

Time taken...  She had taken that time, wasted so much time, made that time come. 

_Now look at me._

She drew her eyes off the mirror before what she knew would follow could happen.

It wasn't time.  Not yet.  Things were still too new, everything was too distracting.  She knew what she could do to herself when she got too tired and negative.  She still did that sometimes.  Obviously, nearly getting killed hadn't quashed that much about her. 

Why did it keep coming back like that?  For all the talking, all the effort and even distraction, she never had figured out why that nagging negativity wouldn't go away.  Before the accident, she remembered being happy--sincerely happy, hopeful, confident, and for the first time in her life, she was certain about what she wanted.  Why did it keep coming back?

        _I knew I shouldn't have let him take that shuttle._

        _What do you mean by that?_

Shaking her head again--shaking herself from the darkness and its inspiration--she left the bathroom with her hair barely straightened. 

When she turned the corner, she found her mate still wrapped in her bed--_their_ bed, getting a rest he needed as much as she had.  Unmoving, lying on his back for the moment, his fair skin looked gold against the light blue sheet and his mussed hair--she grinned a little--made her feel better about her own for a moment.  For the first time since she woke up in sickbay, he looked at peace.

        _He crossed over again, B'Elanna, and took one of our shuttles with him..._

Her smile faded away. 

She watched his chest rise with a tiny inhale.  Then he stilled again.

        _Well, better he just left instead of leading them back to us.  ...You think you can get those relays back online soon?  --Torres?_

His long fingers were bunched up in a fold of the blanket.

        _I heard you.  ...Tell Suder and Hogan to start removing the casings._

        _I was hoping you'd say that...  I'm glad you're one of us..._

B'Elanna touched the panel to turn the bathroom light off. 

She moved back to the bed.  Reaching out to balance herself against the mattress as she lowered herself again, she tried to think of something she could do to distract herself.  The quiet, she decided, was getting to her more than she wanted to admit, was giving that "healing brain" of hers too much room.  Maybe she could activate some soft music.  Tom could sleep through that easily.  Or, she remembered, she could get a book from the dresser.  She had quite a few, and her eyes were pretty good.  Anything. 

She wasn't in the mood for either and she knew it. 

He barely stirred when she managed to scoot herself closer to him, and she gladly let her head sink into the cool, heavy pillow.  Yet as she pushed and maneuvered herself onto her side, she heard him mumble, "I knew you wouldn't stay down long into the morning." 

Her mouth twitched upward, grateful to feel her tension fade with that simple admonishment. 

"How many laps did you run?"  Tom asked, a little amused and more awake that time.  He turned onto his side to face her.  "Or did you manually realign the warp core yet?" 

She snickered softly.  "Sa-heh Ih hwah keh," she said then stiffened as soon as she realized that the slurred, odd-sounding voice was hers. 

_Aphasia,_ she reminded herself, _the nice word for 'unintelligible.'_

She somehow forgot in her sleep.  She'd been told of the damage in both medical and layman's terms, reminded herself as often as she made her poor attempts to form sentences.  She was functional, but certain "little things" like language and coordination would be the last things to recover, the Doctor had said.  Neural stimulators and Klingon redundancies at that point wouldn't make much difference.  They'd both done what they could.  Nature had to take its course.  In time... 

Too much time.  Too many times, she'd wasted it...

        _She's gotten moody, unpredictable--argumentative.  Just like her mother._

Sighing to see her face change, knowing she was catching herself again, Tom simply eased her into his arms, pressed his cheek to hers. 

"It's okay, B'Elanna," he breathed, and she gave a slight nod.  A little grin curled his lips.  "Guess you're gonna kill me if I tell you again that it'll take time." 

She snorted.  He had no idea.  "hYeh.  Ih meht." 

"I'll keep saying it anyway." 

She blinked.  "Ih nahw." 

A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, followed by a kiss upon her forehead. 

_God, how did I manage to get him back?_ In all honesty, she had to wonder sometimes. 

"hYeh cehn kehp sehen geht." 

Tom's smile grew.  "Just remember you said that." 

She smiled, too--lopsided for the most part, but she had a feeling he knew what it meant.  "C'mhr." 

He did, placing his lips upon that grin, tickling it with a slight caress, sighing softly as he touched their lips again.  Tilting his head slightly, nudging her chin aside, he kissed her jaw, exhaling a soft sigh as he eased closer to her ear.  Without thinking at first, she pressed into that kiss, purring softly as his breath warmed her skin.  Her fingers, holding on to his robe, clutched slightly, rubbing the muscles underneath.

        _You do know what it means, right?  That you're bonded to me, responsible for me?_

        _Yes, B'Elanna.  And I meant it._

But she didn't pause when she realized what she was doing.  Suddenly, it seemed perfectly natural, totally logical that she should have again what the burns ripped away.  But then, Tom must have gotten the hint when he eased himself away from her cheek. 

"When it's a better time," he whispered. 

Another time.  More time...

        _If you walk away from this one, B'Elanna, you'll hate yourself..._

B'Elanna shook her head. 

"Nah," she said--slowly, so he would understand.  "Nahw.  Ih wah-teh tah...hreh-peh teh ahth, teh...mahk meh." 

"Now?  You know we can't do anything after." 

"hYeh meh maht," she said, forcing her words through lips and a tongue that weren't wanting to cooperate with her.  "Ih hwahn tah _seh_ teh beht, Tahm." 

He grinned.  He never could help himself when he saw a particularly determined look in her eyes, which she knew she was giving him.  "You want me to bite you--now." 

"hYeh-s.  --hWeh dahn't hehf teh deh teh hahl hreht-ehahl.  Shast teh beht." 

"You're sure?"  He turned his look askance.  "Just the bite."  She nodded.  "Haven't you been through enough regeneration lately?" 

She knew that light tone of his.  But she wasn't joking.  "Ih dahn't hwahn tah heh leht," she told him.  "Ih hwan teh _seh_ teh beht." 

"Ahh."  He finally understood, noticing her smooth jaw line all over again.  "And you're up for that already?" 

"hYeh-s." 

She did not flinch, and her small grin reflected the one that grew on him.  She could tell, though, by his hesitation that he would have preferred they do it the way it was supposed to be done--the way they'd done it before, with both of them up to the full ritual, with all the words and with them facing each other upright and strong, able to follow their promises up with a physical bonding.  She clearly remembered how vibrant it had been the first time.  As it was, she knew they'd both get themselves worked up beyond her physical capacity if they weren't careful.

        _You don't love her anymore._

        _That's not true!_

        _Yes, it is!  And you don't love me, either!_

"Guess there isn't a time or place for anything--especially us, huh?"  he said. 

She blinked her agreement then gave him what she hoped looked like an encouraging smile.  "Deh eht," she whispered. 

Another pause, and then he placed his fingers under her chin.  "I never could resist you for long," Tom whispered admiringly. 

As his pinkie stroked her smooth neck, he bore his gaze into hers.  For several seconds, in fact, he seemed to take every millimeter of her into examination, his mouth parting, his eyes darkening with a certain seriousness.  Her eyes widened a little to see that.  He hadn't looked so intense the first--

"Just so you know," he told her softly, his lip twitching up again, "you still belong to me, B'Elanna Torres." 

In a beat, he turned her chin to drive his teeth into her untouched skin. 

"Ahh!"  she gasped, digging her fingers into his arm. 

The pain was exquisite.  She felt it at the punctures in her cheek and through the nerves of her neck, down into her shoulder in ricochets.  She felt it throb, growing hot with blood, and similarly the rest of her body tingled and warmed.  It was a kind of satisfaction she still couldn't describe, still couldn't understand. 

That time, she wasn't getting rid of the mark.  Not a bit of it.  To hell with what anyone might think--even the Doctor for their getting physical so soon. 

She drew another, longer breath, purring as he kissed at the shock, which continued to send tendrils of sensation through her body, warming her to her bones. 

Her hand crawled down to caress his hip, and she smiled again to hear his low, cautioning growl.  "B'Elanna..." 

"Ih nah," she sighed into his ear, pulling up her arm to let her hand drift over the curve of his back.  As expected, she was aroused.  His quickened pulse and twitching groin was little surprise, either.  His whole body had responded as if born to do just that, she could smell him so distinctly.  But it felt good enough that she would gladly deal with the frustration. 

"Damn, I never thought I'd enjoy something like this," he breathed between tastes.  His tongue withdrew from her skin, then his lips slowly closed around the mark, sucked it gently.  She drew a shivering breath.  But then, he pulled slightly away--hesitating, probably, to go much further. 

She moaned softly.  "Baht hlet meh tah-ts eh.  hWeh cahn tahsh eht lehs." 

"What was that again?"  he whispered. 

She paused, disturbed from their semi-union at that, let out her breath.  "Teh feh-leh, hlek teh beht...  Ih wahn-nteh..."  She growled, pushing herself away, back to her pillow.  "hWhah deh eh s-teh hweht meh?  Ih sahnd lehk ahn ehdeh-aht." 

"You don't sound like an idiot," Tom told her, gently even as he trained down his grin.  He always tried not to smile when he thought she was overreacting. 

Well, maybe not overreacting, she corrected herself.  When he thought things were simpler than she made them out to be, he had a habit of smiling about it.  When they first came together, he had admitted to thinking that part of her was endearing.  He'd always thought so.  Tom always did have a peculiar taste. 

"And as for why I stay with you, B'Elanna, you ought to know pretty damned well." 

"hWeh, tehn?"  she replied, almost challenging him in response the the crawl that wouldn't stop, now that it had started--again.  Yet again.  "Tehl meh hweh." 

"Because you're my mate," he said simply.  She blinked at the word.  "You are, B'Elanna--and I love you.  And, by the way, I happen to _like_ biting you, among other things."  He touched the mark he'd left on her face, watched a stillness creep into her features as his words sunk in.  "Why do you think I'd give up on you?  Honestly, B'Elanna, I don't know what else to give you, how else to prove that." 

B'Elanna's eyes drew down.  He'd been hurt by her doubt, and maybe she could understand that much.  But she couldn't help her own embarrassingly persistent feelings either.  She couldn't even explain them to herself.  She never could, despite all the practice she'd had with it.

        _Do you have to keep count just because you couldn't stop it?_

        _Yes!  Yes.  Satisfied now?_

        _This isn't about me being satisfied._

"Nahwahn ehs hahs," she admitted quietly.  "Ih cahn't ehlp tehnkeh geht...tah hyeh maht gah ahweh, ehfan ehf hyeh cahm bahk.  Ih cahn't...neht tehnk ahbeht eht." 

"Okay," he said, but slid his hand down to her shoulder to give it a little squeeze.  "But one of these days you're going to have to believe I'm not going anywhere--not if I have any say in it.  Even if I couldn't help it, I'd fight it.  You know that.  You ought to, anyway, after everything we've been through."

        _Your mother and I are having problems, but..._

        _You don't love her anymore._

        _That's not true!_

        _Yes, it is!  And you don't love me, either!_

His gaze flicking across her features for another moment, he sighed and drew her close to him.  "I know," he said.  "There're never any guarantees.  But the more you focus on that, the worse it gets.  We both know that, too.  We've talked about it before, remember?" 

B'Elanna almost smiled--almost.  In her own troubles, trying to work through them with his help, she'd learned so much more about his losses and struggles, his fight to regain his self-worth.  It'd been harder for him than even she knew.  But he refused to back down again--boldly refused to go backwards again and even invited her to kick him if he did.

        _If we'd been there, we'd *all* have probably been dead now._

        _What do you mean 'we?' You weren't there...after you were caught._

        _I would have been soon enough, as long as you were still there._

She thought again, too, about what she'd been told, the dogged determination he'd held all the time she was out.  He couldn't help what'd happened to her, she knew, but he'd obviously done his part in her convalescence--to the point that the crew had probably worried more about him than her.  When Tom helped her out of sickbay, the Doctor asked her to keep an eye on him.  It wasn't all in jest, she could tell. 

That probably didn't matter to Tom, knowing him. 

It'd affected him.  She could see it.  She had seen it.

        _In the life of my eyes, very tired.  I'll never forget that in the middle of the way...there was a stone._

Finally resigning to speak again, she laid her head down on his chest so he wouldn't feel the pressure of her stare.  She wanted to know.  "Ih hreh-mehbah wahn hyeh weh tahn-te ahw-eh mehsahn..." 

She stopped, remembering herself, the last conversation they'd had, in the mess hall.  So normal, pleasant, like any other day.  It was among the last things she remembered--kissing him goodbye, finishing her meal, taking the turbolift down to engineering to start her shift--a long shift, she recalled, of her own choice, which she started like any other day.

She didn't remember much else past that.  It was just a normal day...any other day.  
        _What's going on?_

She blinked several times as it faded off. 

"Hah deh-teh fahnd aht...Ih'd behn haht?" 

"How did I find out you you'd been hurt?"  he asked.  She nodded.  "When I came back from the survey.  I'd even brought you some tachyon particles as a gag gift.  Do you remember us talking about that, when I left?" 

Another nod, and she curled her fingers lightly upon his chest. 

He sighed.  She could tell without looking, without him saying, that he didn't want to talk about it yet--probably not at all if he could.  She could almost feel him picturing it all over again, the horror of what she must have looked like.  She didn't withdraw her request, though, particularly now that she had made him think about it. 

His hand reached up to take hers; he looked at it, caressed it.  He swallowed then breathed again. 

"The captain was there to meet me when I got back.  When she told me, I thought...  I thought I'd lost you, lost everything...all over again."  He paused at that.  Saying as much as he did had been difficult, she knew.  But a few moments later, he added quietly, "Maybe it was weak, B'Elanna, but I would have held on to you as long as I could."  He paused, shook his head.  "I didn't want to tell you about this yet." 

"Teh meh," she whispered.  Her softened voice was thick.  "Peh-hlehs, Tahm." 

"I think I was crazy..."  he began, trying to breathe a laugh without success.  "Thinking about what if...  But then I couldn't think about it."  He pulled her away just enough to assure her full attention.  He had it.  "I kept thinking if I left you, it'd be the last time I saw you."  His gaze bore into her, then.  "I've never been like that before.  Never.  Everything in me said that you would've wanted to live, and I just needed to be there when you woke up--that if I were there, you'd wake up." 

He stopped himself at that, grinned slightly--tried to grin.  But none of his usual lightness followed it. 

B'Elanna curled her fingers around his.  "Eht's ahkeh." 

He squeezed back, nodded slightly. 

"I realized in there, while I was waiting for you to wake up, that I was willing to give up everything, my career, my friends, and my life, to take care of you.  It might sound crazy, but I would've done it.  I realized exactly what the Oath meant, B'Elanna.  I'm almost ashamed to admit I didn't before." 

He touched the bite on her cheek once again. 

She rubbed into it, feeling the slight sting. 

        _You think I don't have a list of my own floating around in my head?_

He took a breath, the trace of his grin returning, his voice a little stronger.  "So, I decided to make up for that--that it was my sacrifice to make--and the hell with anyone who tried to make me do otherwise, and they thought I was delusional for refusing to let go." 

To her credit, she didn't ask. 

Thankfully, Tom finished before she could formulate a guess.  "You were worth it.  You _are_ worth it." 

Slowly, she nodded, considering that.  "Ih hwehdn tahs-keh te deh taht," she said. 

"I know you wouldn't," he said.  "But you know you can't control everything, right?  Even me." 

At that, she did smile slightly, flexed her fingers in his hand.

        _You never did anything like this after...after what happened with you, did you?_

        _I didn't need a program to remind me._

        _I guess not._

        _The question is, why did *you* need it?_

        _I don't know._

"Sahmtehms," she whispered. 

"I'd do it again, you know," he added. 

"hYeh pah teh mahsh ahn hyehsehf." 

"Maybe," he admitted.  "But considering I'd rather have too much on my plate than nothing at all, I don't mind.  Do you?" 

B'Elanna did not respond. 

She might have known he'd turn the question back on her, considering, though her answer was probably as important to him--not just if she minded his waiting, but her actually wanting to survive like that, if she would've hated him in her oblivion for letting her remain as long as he was willing to hold on. 

Of course, it was just that--oblivion.  She had no recollection of it, and though she was certain that in the end it would have been worse for him than for her, she knew without thinking that she'd have rather had at least the _chance_ of survival.  Dead was something that couldn't be reversed--and she knew all too well what followed it.  Hoping against hope, on the other hand...

        _I don't even know *what* I'm walking away from!_

        _The fact that you're alive, B'Elanna._

        _You don't know anything.  --Don't look at me like that, Tom.  Just don't!_

"Would you have wanted it?"  Tom asked again, drawing her gaze back to his.  "If it had turned into months?" 

Somehow it wasn't a question to her anymore, though she had been the one to bring it up in the first place.  She couldn't help it.  But then, _she'd_ been the one to give _him_ a hell of a threat of loss--more than once, or even twice.  _A hell of a lot of trouble is more like it, right from the start._

        _The fact that you cut out only made what happened between us expedient._

        _We don't belong to each other--and you were the one who insisted on that, remember?_

Why she always came back to the same place was still a mystery to her, and she always felt a little unfaithful when she let herself go there.  What he had done for her, was willing to go through for her, had gone through, _was_ the most solid proof anyone could have had. 

She wondered why it unnerved her as much as it was a relief.  There was still a small, mean part of her that wanted to reject it, to not trust it, or him, or herself.  What she wouldn't do to make it go away... 

        _I never betrayed you, B'Elanna.  Never.  So feel free at any time to leave me the hell alone._

Tom watched the work going on in her eyes.  Her pause grew long as she seemed to try to decide.  "Do you mind that I would have held out for you, B'Elanna?" he asked once more, quietly.  "I need to know."

She drew a small sigh, so relaxed in his embrace as her chest rose and fell.  Fair, strong and so warm, his arms.  She sometimes ached when he held her with them, those arms enfolded her so securely.  She craved it even when she didn't want to, when he was away, when their shifts didn't permit them but a moment together, a meal, a mere passing in the corridor, planning always for later. 

And that empty, dark time when he was sectors away, that loneliness would rush up on her when she realized that indeed he wasn't by her.  Then, she tried desperately not to think on it, did everything she could to crush it.

        _What about you?  I mean, are you scared, really scared of anything?_

        _I'm frightened of people leaving me._

The feelings she had when he did enfold her was a rush of sensation she could not put a name to, except...  --It was crazy, and that same small part of her wanted to think it wasn't like her.  But it was what it was.  More, it was _there._

        _You don't ever have to be afraid of being left again.  I swear, that will never happen._

With her continued silence, Tom broke their gaze.  "Or maybe it's too soon to ask you that.  You don't have to answer." 

"Nah..."  Pulling her arm down, she moved her hand into his and breathed deeply when his fingers instantly warmed around her own.  "hYeh deh te hreh tehn-g, Tahm," she whispered. 

His head popped back up, his serious facade lighting with such regard, surprise and gratitude, all in the same look--and for her, an unspoken reward for her acknowledgement.  Her lips pulled into a small smile.  How she could remember, long ago, when that same expression had unnerved her.  There, just then, the effect was just the opposite. 

"Ih dahn wahn teh lahs hyeh.  Ih dahn wahn-thyeh teh lahs _meh,_ ehteh," B'Elanna added, hearing her own voice behind the sounds--hearing herself trying to say what she meant.  That time, she did want him to know it.  "Ih'm g-hlhaht hyeh s-taht, Tahm, ehfahn ehf eht hwahs hahd." 

He released a long breath, warming the small space between them.  For a moment, his eyes closed.  It struck her then that he'd needed it, too--_her_ reassurance.  _How many times have I forgotten that?_ she wondered.  She probably didn't want to know. 

"It was easier to keep going than think about doing anything else," he told her. 

She let her head rest on the pillow.  "hWeh teh mahsh ahleh-k sahmtehms." 

"In an upside-down way," he agreed.  "I guess one of these days we'll just have to accept the fact that we need each other." 

He'd tried to say that lightly, she noticed.  But she suspected he'd already gone through that process.  He wouldn't have tried to lighten it if he hadn't.  As for herself...  "Eht s-cahrs meh...sahmtehms." 

"I get pretty scared, too."

        _Damn, I just can't...  What's *wrong* with me?_

        _There's nothing 'wrong' with you, B'Elanna.  You've been through hell, and you've been as strong as ever about it--for everyone.  But this...  This looks like taking inventory.  It scares me to see it._

        _I wish I could say the same._

He gave her hand a stroke with his thumb.  "I hate it, but, yeah, I guess we've both got our reasons." 

She nodded.  "Sah...  Ih nehd teh seh eht sahmtehms--nehd p-hrahf." 

"That's fair enough," he said understandingly.  "If I can't imagine letting you go, I can see why you'd need more than faith to believe I'm sticking around."  He nuzzled her cheek lightly, stealing a soft kiss, then looked at her again.  "But I hope you won't always need proof.  I hope I won't always have to try to convince you." 

"Mehbeh hyeh wahnt...  Ih-hahp Ih wahnt tehnk h-lehk taht ahwehs."

        _I wish I could say the same.  Just looked like status quo to me._

        _It's not.  But you've seen too much of it that you'd think so._

        _Maybe._

She honestly wished she could get over it.  She wanted to. 

Gazing into his honest eyes, she saw the remaining fear, much as she hated to admit it, even to herself.  But it wasn't for him that she felt it.  It wasn't for her, either.  And maybe that was all she could ask for.  Maybe it was all she could fairly demand.  In all her jumbled thoughts and cross-hatched fears, she knew she did trust _him_ \--and herself, with him at least. 

It was so strange, though good.  It was good. 

She drew up her hand, over his shoulder and to his jaw. 

She touched it, met his eyes.  "hLeht meh.  --Ih wahn-t ehfeh-hwan teh nahw, Tahm.  Ihm naht ahf-hrahd." 

"Not afraid?"  he asked; she nodded.  "Of what?" 

Another lopsided smile managed itself to her lips.  "hYeh meh maht.  Ih wahnt tehm ahl teh nahw taht nahw." 

"You're sure?"  he asked, a little surprised but certainly pleased, judging by the spark in his eyes.  He was so easy to please--much easier than she thought sometimes.  "There's going to be some bruised feelings for not letting them throw a party the first time." 

"Ih cahn hehndeh eht ehf hyeh cahn." 

"That sounds like challenge, Lieutenant." 

"Mehbeh eht ehs." 

She could feel her grin pressing through her weakened muscles and pale facade.  She could even feel her heart beating steadily again--stronger.  Seeing this and interpreting her meaning, Tom's face creased into a wide smile.  That alone made her certain that she'd decided well. 

Besides, it was about time she lived up to her side of the bargain.  Thinking on that, too, she took it a step further. 

"Ahnd mehbeh hweh cahn geht neh quahtehs sahmtehm?" 

He breathed a relieved laugh.  "I'll put in the request."  With not a little mischief turning his smile to the side, Tom bent to lick gently at the bite he'd given her.  "When would you like to tell them, then?" he whispered in her ear.  "Or should we just take Doc off the leash and let it fly?" 

She giggled--and though she even hated the sound of her laugh, she didn't regret it that time.  "hWeh'l dehcehd lehtah," she replied. 

"Okay," he breathed, pressing his lips to her cheek once more before letting her have her turn. 

She took it for all it was worth, propping herself, unsteadily at first, on her elbow to stare down at him.  She stayed that way for nearly a minute, barely thinking at that point but on him--just him, and everything she knew they had survived and overcome, what he had become to her, everything she knew he'd given and wanted to give--and everything she had become and wanted to give, too.

_My blood..._

A slow smile crept onto her lips. 

_Our blood._

The thought of it didn't unnerve her.  Finally. 

"hYeh stehl behlahg teh meh, Tahm Pahrehs." 

She inhaled the scent of his skin as she bent close, forcing herself to do it well despite her lack of strength and coordination.  She knew well she could make up for anything in determination--the one thing she knew she would never lose. 

So, drawing herself near, steadying herself against him, B'Elanna bared her teeth and sunk them into his flesh.  It was awkward, but hearing his gasp, the following groan, and feeling his hand clutch into her hair, she knew she'd done it at least a little right. 

Deep within her throat, she felt, rather than heard, an earthy purr as she reclaimed his taste, strangely familiar now, as his arms enfolded her. 

He pressed her closer in, and she felt an eerie calm spread through her body, like a blanket, from her scalp to her toes.  She could _feel_ his taste intoxicating her, and she moaned softly to part her lips and take even more. 

It hadn't felt like that the first time. 

It hadn't felt as real...

        _You're alive, B'Elanna--like it or not._

She liked it.  She liked it probably more than she knew before. 

Reflexively, her arms tightened around him; her small body molded to his long frame.  His legs partially wrapped around hers; he leaned into her as he positioned them comfortably, partially burying her in his warmth. 

He said nothing, though she could feel his stubbled grin nuzzled firmly against her shoulder. 

_How could I have made myself believe I didn't want this once?_ she wondered idly as she let her eyes close, released her breath in a contented sigh.  But then, she smirked to herself, _You probably just didn't believe you could keep it._

It was more than that, but she left it alone as their bodies stilled, and she stilled, completely. 

How strange that while she would have welcomed some traditional mating behavior, for any sort of activity that reminded herself of her better self, she was equally content to stay where they were just then.  In fact, she didn't mind the idea of going back to sleep, just like that.  She could stay just like that for a very long time. 

The rest--much as she knew there was--could wait. 

She had what she wanted for the moment. 

...

.....

.......

.........

She doesn't even see him coming when he snatches her out of the small corridor and tucks them into a dark corner.  Clutching onto the part she plans to put into the engine--not him--she feel her back press against a thin inner bulkhead.  "We need to talk," he whispers. 

"Not here!"  she hisses, jerking a glance out for anyone who might be coming.  She can suddenly feel a thousand eyes on her in that dark nook and a thousand ears in the tritanium walls.  "Tom, I thought I told you--"

"B'Elanna, you need to know--"

"Please, don't make this any harder than we've made it already--"

"I won't," he assured her.  "I just want you to know--"

"Shh!  Someone's going to hear us." 

"Okay.  Okay."  Taking a breath, he leans close to her--a little too close, she thinks, practically feeling his warm breath on her lips, his hands caressing her bare skin.  The memory of only two nights ago rush through very veins and every nerve.  She can see his face, flushed, lips parted, when he thrust one last time within her.

"Make it quick," she tells him, not as harsh as it was truly asking him not to get her into it--not there, not then.  She wants to too much...too much to... 

"Whatever's necessary here's fine by me," he told her.  "You call the shots on that." 

Looking around the corner, he turns back to her and takes her arms into his large hands.  His thumbs stroke through her shirt sleeves, multiplying the sensation of his nearness.  His gaze sinks into hers, makes her sure that he's totally focused on her. 

She feels herself sway towards him then pulls herself back. 

"But I'm not giving up on you--not now, not ever," he tells her, almost desperately trying to make her know it.  "I want to be with you--and I don't care if you're scared, 'cause I know you want it too.  So I'm not giving up.  One of these days, all this is going to be over, and I'll be there.  You remember that, B'Elanna.  I will be there, waiting for you, and we'll get our time away from all of this." 

She can only stare at him.  She doesn't dare say a word, lest she--

"Okay.  Sorry.  I'm going." 

She opens her mouth to respond, but as quickly as he'd slipped them into the corner, he strides away, not making a noise and not looking back. 

Then, she stands alone, feeling the chill from the air he moved and not his warmth anymore.  She exhales and feels even less inside herself. 

"Tom..." 

But he's too far away.  She knows he is. 

She will find him later. 

She will get a moment and find him later... 

...

.....

.......

.........

"Torres?  --Chakotay, she's coming to.  --Hey, B'Elanna.  Come on, wake up." 

A thin hand squeezes then shakes her shoulder, and she opens her eyes. 

Seska is grinning above her.  Soon after, Chakotay looms behind, staring down with concern and relief.  She takes a deeper breath.  Her mouth twitches up to see her friends. 

"About time you got up from your nap," Seska says, adding a smirk.  But she's looking her over, too.  She has a tricorder in her other hand.  "Those jokers from the Tyralt have made macraméé out of the warp core.  They _say_ they're fixing it, but I really have wonder--"

"What happened?"  she cuts in, but a moment later, the last minutes she remembers quickly file by...  "The Cardassian ships...at Dorvan."  Her hand rises heavily from the blanket to touch her face.  Neither of her friends stop her.  It's swollen, and the remnants of her injury make her snap her hand away.  "Damn!"  she hisses, not bothering to curse them, too, for not warning her.  "What's going on?" 

"You've been out for a day," Chakotay tells her, "while we've been getting the hip back in order."  He is quiet, quick to explain.  He's busy.  He must have just stopped by.  "You looked worse than it was."  Seska grins maternally at that, and he adds, "Seska fixed you up as best as she could, and the Tyralt got here a few hours ago.  They're helping to replace a few blown sections and get us back up to primary power.  We'll be at Selka in a couple days." 

She blinks her thanks to her friend, who taps the tricorder and gives it another sweep over her head.  The scan is pretty strong, she can feel it radiating into her skull--or no, it's the pressure from the bruise.  "How bad is the ship?"  she asks her. 

"We're still here, aren't we?"  Seska says, smirking again.  "Like I told you before:  If you're not in a vacuum, you're doing okay." 

She snorts softly.  "Yeah."  Propping herself up a little, she looks around at the room.  She is in her own bunkroom, such as it is.  To her relief, her focus returns.  Aside from the soreness in her face and arms, she thinks she might even stand.  She wants to stand, to move, to find... 

She feels her limbs weaken with her next observation. 

_Where is he?_

The last look she clearly remembered was his head snapping around when a node blew behind her, his soot-smudged stare, whipping around to check on her before yanking the Liberty around in another evasion. 

His hard, fast reports echo in her mind.  Hell and high water, he would get them out of it...he would pull the Liberty through.  Then another shot, another blunt tremor deep in the belly of the ship...Another shot--and a flash of light--

Then, nothing. 

He should be there.  He would want to be there.  She knows him.  He would want to be there. 

She now understands in full why Chakotay doesn't like relationships on his ship, because suddenly, that worthless chunk of hull doesn't mean anything--and neither does the captain's preference.  This alone is beyond her experience--not the concern for another, but a...need.

_Why isn't he here?_

"Anyone dead?"  she asks. 

"Not so far," Seska tells her.  Her smirk disappears.  "We were lucky." 

Unnoticeably, B'Elanna lets her breath go. 

"Paris _will_ be if I get my hands on him again," Chakotay mutters. 

She doesn't react. 

It takes several seconds--the firefight instantly replaced with flashes of memories of the past week, flashes of soft words, sincere promises and gentle, familiar touches, the feel of him inside of her, bringing her to cry out and clutch him against her.

Indeed, it takes several seconds for the statement to register.  And even then, it dumbly circles there. 

Slowly, she wonders what Tom's done that time to piss Chakotay off.  It's easy for Tom to anger him.  Maybe Chakotay _has_ found out what the pilot's been doing with his engineer.  She couldn't care less at this point.  It's not important. 

She wants to see him.  She wants him there. 

She can feel her heart beat, warm, to think her lover is just around the corner and will come around the corner, hold her tenderly, like he had, and tell her everything's okay, and they'll get their time away...She didn't say so, but he was right.  She wanted it too.  She wants it now, more than ever.  She needs...

She wants to tell him so, if only he would come around that dull, smoky corner... 

But the captain's tone is deadly, and he's pointed in bringing up the pilot's name. 

The room is shrinking around her. 

If he got his hands on him _again_...  The dread returns with a sort of nausea she has not felt since she was a child.  She knows that tone.  It can't be right, but she knows that tone... 

_Don't show them, don't show them anything._

"I knew I shouldn't have let him take that shuttle," Chakotay finishes. 

Finally turning a slow look up to her captain, she flinches at the man's expression. 

Everything around her stops.  Every feeling in her body drains.  She has had this feeling before. 

She has felt like this before. 

She has felt this feeling before, long ago, and not again until that moment. 

She draws a slow breath. 

"What do you mean by that?" 

...

.....

.......

.........

"It's certain.  He crossed over again, B'Elanna." 

She doesn't want to hear it.  She doesn't want to hear anything anymore, but just get to work on that battered ship and put Tom Paris as far behind her as possible.  She wants to work.  They need her to work--asked her to work when she was ready.  She didn't need to be asked twice. 

The tight fury inside her chest feels ready to explode.  Every time she hears more about it, the possibility is nearer still. 

Maybe her putting him off, maybe her turning him away, was a catalyst to him thinking he has nothing to lose.  Or maybe in some stupid, twisted way, he thinks he's helping?  Or maybe he's been planning it all along, and she wonders where he is at that moment.

She doesn't want to think about it.  She refuses to make excuses.  He's gone.  End of story. 

This has always worked for her before. 

As if to spite her, Chakotay continues to follow her.  "Frankly I'm not sorry," he says.  "I didn't care much for him as it was.  And now, we're back to Riva to regroup.  Probably five of our hideouts are dead zones now, thanks to him." 

"We'd have had to give them up anyway," she states, "if there were Cardassian ships patrolling at Dorvan." 

"Maybe," Chakotay concedes.  "You think you can get the plasma reactors back on line by eighteen hundred?  Torres?" 

She feels his hand on her shoulder, and she jerks it away to rid herself of the touch lest she reel back at him.  She doesn't want _anyone_ near her.  She feels like she will break if he's even breathed upon at that point.  She feels the urge to take the first thing she can grab and hurl it into a bulkhead. 

She wants to hurt something.  She wants to make it hurt, see it shatter and disintegrate... 

Not her.  Anything but her. 

"You okay?" 

"Fine," she says shortly. 

Or maybe he's only been captured and Starfleet's made the worst of it.  Maybe they're doing it on purpose to see how they react, to flush out other hideouts.  Maybe he's dead and they're using his name to incite a retreat.

Scenarios flash through her mind, and she can see her lover's face, his gentlest expression, mixed in with it all.  His hands reach out to her... 

She growls to herself.  He's gone.  End of story.  If Chakotay's reports are right.  --But what if they aren't? 

But Chakotay doesn't make that big a deal about things just for spite; he's always tried to be certain.  Chakotay earned her trust.  He wouldn't condemn an innocent man.  She believes that.  She knows that.  It's what made her trust his judgment and make Tom wait, to make them both wait for another, better time.

Time enough for him to betray them.  --But what if they convinced Chakotay it was true?  What if the reports are wrong and Chakotay just doesn't know better?  What if... 

_What if is useless,_ she insists to herself.  _It doesn't change the fact.  He's gone.  They believe he's a traitor--and they wouldn't do that without some proof.  End of story._

"I'm...  I'm fine.  I'll..."  She wishes again he and everyone else would just leave her alone.  "I'll get them online in a few more hours." 

She propels herself forward, her eyes on her escape--a place she needs to go, wants to go. 

She needs to get out of there. 

"You seemed to have been getting along better with Paris after you got back from the planet." 

He suspects her.  He thinks there's more to it. 

He's right.  He's probably right about his information.  He wouldn't insist on it if he thinks it might be a trick. 

Torres' eyes narrow, focus on the ladder.  "He worked pretty hard," she says flatly, pushing out the memories that came to her with the mention of those days--those nights.  "He was fine, and maybe we cleared the air.  He was fine." 

_He was everything,_ a small voice inside her pines.  She crushes it.  _*Was,* you idiot, and you let him be._

She is very close to getting away. 

"Well, better he just left instead of leading them back to us," Chakotay says, still behind her.  "You think you can get those relays back online soon?  --Torres?" 

B'Elanna nods, and all she can see--not the ladder, not the haze from engineering below, not Chakotay--is the look in Tom's face when they last made love, the way he'd looked into her eyes and thanked her--not for anything in particular, he'd been quick to say.  He was just thankful.

_Damn you, Tom!  Why did you even *look* at me?!_

"B'Elanna?" 

B'Elanna wraps her fingers around a cold metal rung, stares down to what's ahead.  She wants to go there, wants to work off the fury that is making her shake.  The feel of a hyper-wrench flexes in her palm.  The thought of it crashing...crushing into...shattering and twisting... 

"I heard you," she tells him tightly. 

She can think of nothing else.  There is nothing else to say or believe. 

"Tell Suder and Hogan to start removing the casings." 

"I was hoping you'd say that."  He gives her a pat on the shoulder. 

Her shoulders tense to stone.  She might rip the rung out of the supports, can see the metal ripping, tearing, out of its bearing.  Her knuckles are red.  The muscles in her hands are twitching. 

"I'm glad you're one of us, Torres," she hears him say.  "It's good to have you back." 

She can't remember if she nods or not.  She should nod. 

She doesn't care anymore. 

He's gone.  End of story. 

She lowers herself into the hazy engine, closing her eyes at the hot wind and steady churn... 

...

.....

.......

.........

_Override.  _

... 

_Enter sequence.  _

...

_Override.  _

"There you are," she breathes and punches in another set of codes. 

It hasn't been easy to find the file.  She's run across more security walls then she expected.  But determination beating through the anger he's left her with, she finally breaks a few rules and swipes the security protocols to get into Tuvok's archive files, many of which files Voyager had been supplied with before leaving home. 

_ Override.  _

By the time she ran across her hundredth wall, Torres doesn't care if the Vulcan found out eventually.  She'll prove Paris wrong.  He'll regret making her doubt herself again. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


PAR5229812-D34 Paris, Thomas Eugene Human.  Male.  
  
---  
  
A conspiratorial grin stretches her lips when she looks at the file header.  "It's about time." 

  
  
  
  
  
  


SD 47102.8) Arrested outside the Rigaran sector.  Charged with treason, attack of a peaceful vessel (two deaths resulting, sub.12; sec. 4), willful evasion through eleven star systems (sub 5. sec. 1-6).  
  
---  
  
She blinks. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Involvement with resistance force Maquis apparent.  Prisoner uncooperative but non-threatening.  Prisoner flagged for supervision due to possible health risk.  Recommendation:  Release to Judge Advocate General, Sector 001, for processing.  
  
---  
  
The room fades around her as the words grow brighter, searing her, staining her.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Addendum:  PAR5229812-D34 released to the custody of Starfleet High Command.  Prisoner refused defense; charged and convicted according to General Ruling 481.  Sentenced to 18 months detention at the Auckland Rehabilitation Center; high security, medium labor.  
  
---  
  
A year ago, she had so wanted to believe the voice that told her it wasn't right, that her lover was innocent. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


SD 48299.5:  Prisoner recommended and approved to advise covert recovery mission; upon end of mission, to be returned to Auckland Facility to complete his term.  (See: Cpn. Janeway, Kathryn M. sub.1021, sec. 29)  
  
---  
  
Sitting in the middle of her quarters, staring at the screen, she feels a shame she has never known.  She knows she is completely, willfully, guilty. 

He didn't lie. 

'Flagged for supervision due to possible health risk.'

Suicidal, she translates to herself. 

She was the one to betray him.  She betrayed him. 

She can't breathe. 

For several long minutes, she stares at the screen, feeling the heat of the shame Paris dared her to feel, finally losing his temper to her constant assaults, her challenges to his loyalty since she first stepped upon Voyager nearly six months ago. 

_"I never betrayed you, B'Elanna,"_ he'd said, his voice low and even.  Certain.  _"Never.  So feel free at any time to leave me the hell alone."_ That morning's confrontation echoes through her mind, along with the hard, hurt look in his eyes when she told him he wasn't the only man she'd had, when she finally uses her own pain to inflict more on him.  It'd been her last defense. 

It worked.  It was a shallow victory. 

_"I never betrayed you, B'Elanna.  Never.  So feel free at any time to leave me the hell alone."  _

Health risk. 

She feels her eyes close, heavy inside the lids....

She feels the hands on her, peeling off her soot-stained clothes; a sweaty, hairy body, scraping against her sticky skin, and she welcomes it silently--secretly angry all the while that he isn't her lover, half expecting to open her eyes and see him there. 

"Wild little beauty," he breathed as he pulled off her boot, fingering the long heel, feeling the taut leather above it turn soft with the absence of her foot within it.  Then he grinned wolfishly up at her. 

She wanted to smash him in the bridge of his nose with her other heel when he called her that.  "Get on with it," she growled.  She didn't want to waste time.  She didn't have the time for stupid so-called compliments. 

She wanted to insult his memory--her memory.  She let those ugly hands pretend they knew what they're doing, moved herself under them as though she didn't mind that he'd never give her an iota of the pleasure she'd known before and none of the feeling. 

She just wanted the sex.  It'd been the only thing that'd brought her into that small, cheap room with low-gen sheets on a flat bunk and maybe three pieces of utilitarian furniture.  Chakotay couldn't handle "intimate relations" on his precious ship, so, sure, she'd let a few base-bound rogues take their chances when she got a night to herself and wanted distraction, a little vent for her energy, maybe a laugh if they were lucky.

It meant nothing. 

Hollow and meaningless, she knew it would never mean anything.  But she had no problem with the added benefit of spiting the lover who'd left her, who betrayed her, who didn't care as much as she doesn't give a damn now. 

It should have been Tom there, she knows, with her, getting their time away, like he promised...promised. 

She dug her nails into the flesh of the man above her, snarled at him as he flinched, silently demanding he do something worth her while.  Of course, he didn't.  He didn't know anything.  Useless.  Flipping him onto his back in frustration, she tried to force it out of him, pounded herself against him and tried, tried hard, to get something--anything--from it. 

But she only grunted when she felt him release inside of her.  It shot into her like ice in her veins. 

Now, after, she watched through half-closed eyes the man who'd invited her to rent a little space for the night.  Glancing back at her as he pulled his trousers on, he'd already decided that it's the Klingon in her that caused him whatever discomfort he visibly felt.  _Sure,_ B'Elanna replied, silent and sardonic, _that had to be it._  He knows she got nothing from it.  Still propped up against the headboard, she didn't bother to blame him for his ineffectiveness, but cruelly stared him in the eyes, blank and hardly spent, so he could come to that conclusion himself. 

As she wanted and expected, he left as soon as he got his coat loosely on over his open shirt.  Her scratch marks were clearly visible on his tan neck and the last thing she saw of him. 

He left, and in the desired isolation, she could only feel cold and a little nauseated, knowing it was wrong.  Pulling herself up from the moist sheets and leaning her head into both of her hands, she drew a deep breath and let it out, and then swallowed to stuff the bile. 

To know it always will be wrong. 

She damned Paris' memory all the more for it and crushed any possible tears between her tightly closed eyes. 

He betrayed her.  He left her there. 

But no one will ever be what he was to her. 

It will always be wrong...damn him. 

_Damn him.  Damn him..._

Light years away, Tom Paris had been flagged by some counselor back at Starfleet for possible harm to himself after his conviction, after evading Starfleet for what looked like hours--leading them as far away from the Rigaran sector in a beat-up Maquis shuttle. 

She didn't know. 

She couldn't have known--or could she have, if... 

He decoyed Starfleet to save them, and she went out whoring to curse him. 

Now, in her Voyager quarters, clean, remade and respectable, a ship under her hands and yet another chance at making something out of herself firmly taken, she wonders how she will ever face him--or anyone--again. 

_How *did* the Tyralt know where to find the Liberty?_ she suddenly wondered--and wondered why she hadn't asked, a year ago, when it could have been... 

But Tom was already gone.  He was gone. 

It might have been different.  It might have been prevented.

But it wasn't.  It wasn't. 

"Chakotay to Torres." 

Her eyes open.  The screen slowly focuses.  It's hard to look at, though she doesn't avert her eyes.  Rather, it bores completely into her memory. 

Health risk, and she can't even remember their names.  She doesn't want to.  She hates their memory as much as the rest.  She can't stand to think she did everything but ask, to challenge... 

Her skin crawls to think they had touched her, that she let them, and she thought it wasn't anything, that it was just casual.

To anyone else, it would have been casual.  She can't convince herself of that much.  Not anymore. 

_"Shh, B'Elanna,"_ she had felt him whisper in her ear as she stared at the door where the man disappeared.  _"Not so fast.  I don't want this to be casual."_

He had meant it.  He had meant even more later, and she turned her back on him without any fight...Why? 

He had never lied to her.  She betrayed him.  Why?

_Why?_

Her temples pound with blood.  Her closed eyes tighten, forcing it away.  She can't... 

"Chakotay to Torres.  B'Elanna, are you there?" 

Her eyes shoot open.  She blinks, breathes.  It has been some time since she breathed. 

She hadn't thought to miss it. 

"What do you need?" 

Her voice sounds all right, she thinks.  He won't suspect it. 

Not that she cares. 

She really shouldn't care. 

"We're approaching an old mining facility.  Neelix says there some interesting ores there, but we're having trouble scanning through some of the minerals.  Care to take an away mission, see what's down there?" 

The file is closed.  She bends to grab her boots. 

"On my way"... 

...

.....

.......

.........

"I just don't know what to think anymore," she tells him, unable to continue looking.  Not there.  Not where he is--and she is growing tired.  Or maybe she's been tired all along.  "But at the same time..."  She shakes her head--slowly, with resignation.  She cannot move him.  "I've always been able to get on with things after.  I always have.  But this time, I can't get move away from it like I always have." 

"Maybe you're trying too hard to."  He is gentle in that suggestion.  He knows.  He has been here. 

"Like this?"  She is too tired to even scoff at herself, though she breathes a half-laugh behind her question.  "Is this trying too hard?" 

"No.  What made you think of this is." 

She has no reply for that.  Maybe there isn't one.  She can't think of one.  She feels like she should, but just can't. 

Though, this is not a little thing. 

Why didn't she think so before? 

Why are they there?  What brought her here...to this? 

"B'Elanna, I know you've always dealt with things your own way," he says, soft, easy--trying to be easy, "and I don't mind that.  But looking at this place reminded me of about what was going on in _my_ head after.  I don't want you to go where I've been.  You don't want to go there." 

Her eyes turn down to the rough shadow on the sand.  She can see the tracks she's made with her pacing, deep, uneven circles cut off at the toes of her boots.  "I never said I wanted to." 

Her posture finally begins to weaken, and she feels the twinges of relief in her stiff muscles.  She doesn't like to slouch, but feels the present need, needs the tension to release. 

It's only a small relief.  There's so much, so much, somewhere in there...and the words just aren't there. 

"I never said I wanted to," she repeats, almost a whisper. 

It is then that he finally steps away from inside the cavern.  A slide, a crackle on the sand, a long pause...he's stepping over a body.  He's stepping over the dead thing she'd put on the floor, and then another tread in the grit. 

It's closer. 

She still doesn't look, but she can feel the fluttering in her heart when she knows he's away from there, knows his presence is nearer to her.  She almost thanks him for it--the word is in her when she briefly sighs. 

He stops just short of her reach.  She can almost feel his warmth.  It's both uneasy and tempting her to turn and touch him, to hold him...keep him away from that other side. 

"Please..."  he stops, exhales.  "Hell, I don't even know what I'm asking you to do.  I just...  Just don't think you have to be alone in it, or be strong for anyone, especially now.  I haven't chased after you for four years so you'd have to.  I thought, after everything we've been through, that you'd trust me at least that much." 

"I know," she whispers then pulls her heavy stare from the dirt, around to see him.  She is strangely grateful to see he is as pained at she feels.  Not only feels for her, but _with_ her. 

He knows...  Has she forgotten this?  Again? 

"I'll try, Tom," she says softly.  Her voice sounds like an echo in her ears.  "I don't know how--I don't even know what's going on in my head.  The last day, it's been...  When you met me yesterday, and I was crying, I guess it wasn't...  I guess I wasn't prepared for any of this." 

"Who the hell is prepared for something like that?  B'Elanna, you can't expect that much out of yourself, that you'd just be able to get on with things and mourn in your own time.  It doesn't happen like that." 

He has a point.  But it explains nothing. 

Then again, _she_ hasn't explained anything, either. 

She rarely has.  She rarely has explained herself, even to herself. 

"I just don't know what to say, what to talk about." 

She never has.

But a curious turn finds his lips at that.  "I knew from the first time that you and I were both lousy at therapy," he says, reaching a little with is voice.  He doesn't want her to back away, she knows.  He's being careful.  Experience does that.  "But maybe we can start just by starting.  It wasn't formal the first time." 

"You weren't too bad at getting under my skin," she acknowledges with a small smirk.  "All you had to do was ask me that question."  She pauses.  "That question..." 

All the sudden, she can see his face, his tone, so easily, so clearly.  How spare his features seemed to her, and how old, yet young, his eyes were.  He looked to her as if she were the only answer in the universe that would matter, simply because nothing much else did.  It is a vision that has never left her.  It a feeling he projected to her she could never forget.  He so wanted to know, and yet he knew so much.

"You have no idea how much it affected me.  All you had to do was ask." 

"And all you had to was answer me."  His voice is soft again, sincere, real. 

"Maybe we could do that again?"  she asks tentatively.  "Maybe, we could both...talk?"  A moment later, she has to snort at herself.  "God, I never thought it'd be so hard to say that." 

"It's a pretty scary word, isn't it?" he acknowledges, breathing a half-laugh to finish it, probably glad to be able to.  "But we've figured out how to before.  We can again, right?" 

Turning his gaze inquiringly, his little grin fades into a seriousness that seems right.  This has hurt and frightened him; the scars of it are still drawn into his expression, into lines in his brow, subtle circles beneath his eyes. 

Just then, he looks older than she has ever known him. 

And she feels it. 

In spite of that, he has stayed in that place, among losses she had walked away from, put into the past until that day, with all the others. 

Now, they are all out for him to see, and for her to try to turn away from again and again. 

But he is not among them anymore. 

Neither is she. 

He reaches out to her.  "If you'll let it?" 

Neither is she. 

She does not move at first. 

Neither of them are. 

"I will if you will," he offers, wanting for a teasing lilt.  It's strange not to hear it. 

"That sounds more like a challenge," she notes.  She can't manage the banter, either, she realizes. 

"Maybe it is," he replies. 

But at least the words are there.  It's a start. 

His outstretched hand turns up.  It is steady in the cold air. 

.........

.......

.....

When his fingers wrap around hers, she unconsciously clutches them.  But feeling the pressure she is putting on them, she lets up a little. 

"I'm not really hungry," she says.  She can finally feel the sadness in her voice.  She wonders where it has been, or if she had just not noticed it before.  She suddenly can't remember. 

"Neither am I." 

She still doesn't know what brought her there. 

She breathes, slowly, but deeply.  "Let's go home now?" 

A single nod.  "Okay." 

.........

.......

.....

She blinks against the light when the arch opens before them, but does not pause. 

The weight of the room begins to drain from her, and she closes her eyes for a moment.  Opening her eyes again, the light is easier to take. 

Letting him walk her out into the corridor, she glances back only once before the doors closed again, shutting against the smoky brown pall. 

"Computer, close and delete holo-program." 

.........

.......

.....

She closes the drawer with a tap of her finger, grabs her tunic.  When she comes out, she sees him still standing where she'd left him. 

He's not happy. 

"I have to be in engineering in fifteen minutes," she tells him, passing him for the replicator. 

"So how long are we going to keep _this_ quiet?" 

She turns.  He's definitely not happy.  In fact, she hasn't seen his gaze this dark in months.  He probably thinks the worst about it.  He probably thinks she's doing the same thing all over again... 

"We're not on Chakotay's ship anymore--and Janeway's not against it, as far as I can see.  Why can't we be happy about this?" 

He's excited about it.  So is she, but the feeling nags at her, won't let her weaken...or strengthen--whichever. 

"I'm not saying we shouldn't be happy," she insists then adds another coffee to her selection.  A gesture, maybe? 

"How long, B'Elanna?" 

"Long enough for me to get used to it."  His face is unchanged, and she sighs.  She wants him to understand.  If she puts it right, he will, she knows as she brings their cups to the dining table.  He doesn't move to take his.  "Tom, you have to admit, we did sort of jump into this.  I'm not sorry for taking the Oath, but I'd like some time before we let everyone know what we've been up to in here." 

"B'Elanna, if they haven't figured _that_ out by now--"

"Very funny.  I'm serious."  Giving up her coffee for the moment, she finally takes a step towards him.  She needs this.  Her heart beats in little pounds to admit as much.  This is not easy, but it makes it easier in the long run.  She believes this. 

"So am I." 

"I want some privacy between us before we decide what's next.  You can't tell me this isn't going to be a change, if we go through with everything." 

"Are you saying we shouldn't?" 

"I never said that!" she responds, but let the rest of it slide off.  She doesn't want to fight, not over this.  "I want to be comfortable."  A couple steps nearer, and she reaches out to place her hands on his waist.  "You know we're not that unfamiliar with each other that I'd need that kind of time.  So it's not that and nothing to do with you.  I just...want to get a little more used to the idea before we make it everyone else's business." 

He finally shrugs a little.  He doesn't really want to let it go, she can tell, but he does.  His arms wrap around her again.  Holding her around the small of her back, he looks long into her unblinking gaze. 

"Just tell me when you're used to it, B'Elanna," he says.  He's a little quiet, there.  He's still hurt.  "If it's all that important to you, then I'll go along with it."  His fingers unconsciously mesh into her long muscles, kneading her against him.  "Just not forever.  Okay?" 

Her arms slide up his chest and rest lazily on his strong, lean shoulders.  She draws a satisfied breath.  "It won't be like the other times," she tells him.  "I promise.  It can't be like those other times, anyway.  This is different--and temporary.  I want you with me." 

He nods.  "Okay." 

"Does this mean you're not angry anymore?" she asks, teasing a lilt into her tone and a sidelong look.  "Not that I mind you being angry, but--"

"I won't be as long as you tell me this isn't going to be consigned to oblivion," he tells her.  He is not ready for humor--a little unusual, but not too surprising just then, considering.  It'll pass.  They've gotten through the hard part.  He'll be all right.  His finger strokes the tiny remnant of the mark he'd put on her the night before.  "I want this to work.  I need you, and I don't want to have to be careful, or feel closed off to you.  We've spent too much time like that, and I don't want to go back there." 

"I know," she whispers.  He's right--too right.  She's already gotten what she wanted, but he's right.  "I want it to work, too.  It _will_ work."  With his little nod, she can't help but rub into his touch a little.  It sends a pleasant twinge through her.  "Just trust me on this for a little while, okay?" 

Finally, Tom grins--she feels it against the side of her head as he plants a kiss behind her ear. 

"I do," he breathes... 

...

.....

.......

"I shouldn't have let this go." 

"It was not of sufficient concern to merit attention until now." 

"After the fact isn't usually the best way to keep out of trouble, you know." 

Striding around the core to the diagnostic console, she eyes both engineers. 

"What's going on?" she asks crisply, warning them silently that it'd better be important to pull her off the recalibration Chakotay had thrown down from the bridge--something needed if Voyager was ever going to begin its survey of the nebula and leave Engineering alone for a while.  As it was, she knows she won't be able to meet Tom when he gets back.  But she does want at least a little sleep before she does finally meet...her mate. 

As she nears, it's a challenge to kill the grin pulling at her mouth.  Tom just had to leave her with that thought. 

"We're detecting a spike in the distal warp shunt," Nicoletti tells her.  "Vorik and I have tried to locate it, but I think the computer's being affected by the energy output." 

She moves around to where the other engineer is, nods at the readings.  "Looks like the coil relays need readjusting," she says.  "But I can't see where...Nicoletti, run a level two diagnostic, and...  No, hold on, I see it." 

She taps a few commands, cutting off and rerouting power around the section she's isolated.  Moving away from the panel, she grabs a nearby kit and kneels to open the bulkhead she'd correctly guessed.  Then, removing a couple layers of isolinear casing, she sighs to see the whole shunt is nothing but a blackened abyss.  It's probably been smoking back there for hours, right behind them while they worked.  It's also deep enough that the light isn't getting to it. 

"Vorik...damn."  She reaches inside, feeling her way around parts she knows she knows, but just can't see.  At least they aren't too hot, and it would be a quick repair if it's only the relay.  They can replace the shunt later, get by on secondaries until the survey is underway.  "Vorik, get me a--"

"Lieutenant, I wouldn't recommend a manual manipulation of a volatile component.  It may be--"

"_Relax,_ Vorik.  I've done this a hundred times."  She smirks at that truth, pulling her soot-blackened arm out a little to pull up her sleeve.  "Back in the Maquis, we didn't have the luxury of waiting around for details, especially when the computer wasn't cooperating.  I can do it blind." 

She shuffles around a little more, running her finger down a vacuum rod to its casing.  "Get me a phase compositor, will you?  --Susan, what's the..." 

Finally, she fingers something that doesn't feel quite right.  "Ah, hold on." 

Reaching further into the panel, she grins to feel the vibrations, just under the relay.  It's just the regulator.  As she expected, it's a simple repair, just in an unusual place.  It's nothing like the trouble she used to come across in the same relays on her old ship--old ship being the operative word there.  This time, it was hardly a problem at all. 

"Here it--"

Without warning, the vibrations grow into a sharp whine--then a shrill--

Her hand flies to her eyes when the light--

"_GET BACK!_"

... 

... 

... 

...

"Shhh..."  he breathed, caressing her unkempt hair as he eased her near again.  "It's okay.  You're okay." 

Trembling as she had when she cried out in her sleep, she was stiff beneath his long caresses for more than a minute, breathing in short, dry sobs, jerking her head side to side as she stiffened again.  But he was patient, slow in his movements, shushing her as quietly as he knew how.  After a minute or so, she gradually relaxed, nuzzling her cheek tightly against his chest. 

"Shhh..." 

She pressed there, needful, perhaps at first, and then almost reflexively, until her breathing calmed completely.  She shivered again, but then she stopped when the blanket was pulled over her shoulder. 

"You're right here.  You're right here..." 

Her clutching fingers slowly loosened, smoothed upon his skin. 

But they still held on. 

Gently, he wiped the water away from the corner of her eye.

 

_(fin)_


End file.
